


All in the Game

by CFonticola



Category: Original Work
Genre: Con Artists, Consensual Non-Consent, Fake Sexual Harassment, Fantasy Racism, In Public, Interspecies Relationship(s), Interspecies Sex, M/M, Nonnies Made Me Do It, Public Humiliation, Size Difference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 23:49:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17396054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CFonticola/pseuds/CFonticola
Summary: Big bad orc and beautiful little elf put up a show for fun and profit.





	All in the Game

"Why does it have to be that game again," Urjan grumbled as they were coming up to the teahouse. "You know how I feel about that game."

"Because it's the game that'll work. And you love it, my gods-less brute." Ayal finished the last run of the comb through his hair. He'd been on it since before sunset, and now it glittered in a fall of perfect quicksilver down over his slender shoulders, bringing out the deep warm brown of his skin, the blue of his eyes and his tunic where it hugged his lithe form down to delicate hips. Urjan grunted, scratching at the barely worked leather of his vest.

"I don't _love_ it."

"Not even a little?"

"Well, some parts..." Urjan glanced at Ayal's ears. The elf was wearing a series of blue topaz studs in them tonight. He made a _hrmpf._ "Not the part where everything stops and I get kicked out on my face."

"You won't get kicked tonight, my sweet. The mark is perfect." Ayal stopped in the last pool of shadows before the door to give the orc's vest a few tugs, inspect the bulging muscles in his bare arms, the iron ring in his nose and pointed steel caps on his tusks. "Don't overdo it, though. You look terrifying."

"Ah yes, the delicate line between mildly upsetting ravishment and overdone, terrifying ravishment." Urjan rolled his eyes.

"The very one. Now, count ten minutes, and remember - twist, don't pull."

With that Ayal slipped out from the shadows, quick as a small falcon in flight, and disappeared inside the teahouse. Urjan rolled his eyes again as he began to count. 

Nonetheless, he put thunder in his steps as he walked into the teahouse. The way the wooden floor was built was good for it. He shouldered his way through the door and came in snorting like a boar, chuckling nastily to himself, scratching a handful of claws across his bushy chest. And right on cue, the looks. At the back of the room, in the screened door to the kitchen, the hostess paled. A handful of young dwarves chatting by the door recoiled. A dignified human noblewoman put her cup down meaningfully, scattered some coins, and left with her nose in the air, though also with her way taking a wide half-circle around Urjan's path. 

Urjan noted the mark as he glared and elbowed the dregs of the crowd out of his way. An elf of high status, obviously very wealthy, sipping his tea delicately. A moneyed traveler from quite far away, no doubt. And cringing with great distaste at every thunderclap step, but determined not to let himself be disturbed. Ayal had been right. Perfect.

The game was on. Urjan hacked and spat right in the middle of the neat wooden floor, shouted for some tea - "whichever's you got what got a kick!" - and made right for Ayal at his table.

He'd be damned to say he loved the game, but Ayal did look delectable playing the well-born young elf in the midst of a fearsome world. Delicate hands around his teacup, darling blue eyes all wide, staring up and further up at the massive orc's approach. The tiny quiver in his lips as Urjan smirked down at him. Those fragile wrists on the edge of the table. Urjan thumped a massive palm down next to the fragile china.

"You're a sweet little tidbit," he rumbled. "Scoot over."

Ayal swallowed. "Do I know you, s-sir?"

"Gonna know me real well, real soon." Augh, did he have to with the _diction_ \- but the game was the game. Urjan pulled up a chair with an awful dragging sound, threw his weight down on it, and dragged Ayal closer one-handed - chair, elf, and all. 

One day he was going to figure out how Ayal could go gray on command, the blood draining from his pretty cheeks. For now, focus. Even without looking he could tell that everyone on the teahouse was either looking at them, or very deliberately not looking. Couldn't tell what the mark was up to, but that was Ayal's job to keep an eye on. His job was just to keep everything on Ayal. Attention, eyes, and now a hand on the elf's arm. 

Ayal's skin shivered at his touch, not enough for anyone to see, but plenty for Urjan's experienced fingers to feel. Hah. Who loved the game now?

"Sir, please," Ayal said tremulously. The poor lamb. "This - this is highly improper..."

"Already? I'm just getting started!" Urjan leered. He moved his hand to Ayal's slim back, then down to the pert little ass - not much to recommend most elves in that department, but Ayal's did evoke a great many pleasant memories - and heard a round of hisses and murmurs around the teahouse as he curled his fingers around one cheek. He could cup it as easily as Ayal held his teacup. 

He jostled it a little. Ayal gave a tiny, strangled gasp. "Please don't..."

"What? You never dream about climbing this kind'a tree?" Right, not too crude now, just mildly upsetting ravishment. "Don't you worry, little flower. I can take real good care of you." He put a bit of a croon into that, leaned his face next to Ayal's left ear, so that his tusk brushed its pointed edge. One day he'd figure out how Ayal could squirm in that kind of way that made his excitement look like horror to anyone who didn't know him. 

Just for good measure, he nudged one thick finger against Ayal's crack, getting another gasp that the elf pitched into a muted sob. Now to look up, a moment's apparent distraction, to let Ayal cast his beautiful, shamed and horrified look across the room, pleading silently for help, lingering just a fraction of a second longer on the mark. Urjan couldn't look, but he could imagine the wealthy elf struggle to turn his eyes from that distress. He bellowed: " _Barkeep!_ Where's my gods-damned tea?!" and caught sight of the young dwarves leaving. Good, he had worried a bit that they might intervene. 

A moment later the frayed-looking hostess put a large mug of steaming hot tea at Urjan's elbow. Everything in perfect order, then. Urjan liked tea.

He ignored the look she gave him in favour of sticking his nose in Ayal's hair, taking a deep snorting inhale of the elf's smell. It was harder up close, the looks. Once, when they'd been less practiced, he'd made the mistake of snarling at a host to fuck off because no one would look twice if he was doing this to an orc woman or even a smaller orc man. That ruined the game. Tipped everything into the open, Ayal had said to him that night over the distinct lack of dinner. Just had to remember you were playing them. That was where the satisfaction was.

 _Well, that and in sticking your finger up my ass in public,_ he'd added, which Urjan absolutely couldn't argue with. Just for good measure, he turned his finger in a little circle between Ayal's cheeks, parting them to the edge of pain with just that fractional movement. 

Ayal whimpered. His slender shoulders shook, tiny, noble restraint in the face of humiliation. Gods, the ethereal little shit could work it. Urjan leaned back and shifted in his seat to let his legs spread out. Let everyone who was watching - and they could kid themselves all they want but they were _watching_ \- see the bulge in his low-slung pants. It was almost thicker than Ayal's fine wrists. And thickening by the moment.

They couldn't see the fine little tenting of Ayal's own leggings, and as Urjan plucked the elf into his lap, he made sure to position Ayal to keep it well-hidden. That was nobody's business but his own. Even apart from the game.

But the game did give him every permission to close his vast palm about Ayal's crotch, cupping the whole hot, straining business. Ayal's face was the very picture of agonized shame. Damned elf couldn't keep himself from twisting against Urjan's hand, once, quickly subsuming the gesture into a token struggle to break free. Urjan snorted a laugh at that pitiful attempt. "Do like a little bit of fight," he growled. "Spunky little flower."

Ayal spoke strangled and hollow. "A-among my people I have... status... power... you cannot... "

Oh yes, he knew that line. Urjan made a show of looking around the teahouse - practically empty, but for the tortured hostess and the wealthy elf foreigner. That fine pale face was absolutely burning now as he kept darting little gazes their way out of the corner of his downcast eyes. 

Urjan leered at him especially, then raised a hand and twisted the largest stud in Ayal's tender ear. 

"Heh, well." He couldn't help but give a bit of a pull. Ayal gasped into the very bottom of his lungs. His cock shuddered against the hard thick muscle of Urjan's thigh. "Don't see none of your people doing a damn thing here." 

A lone tear slipped from the corner of Ayal's eye. "Sir, I beg you...!"

Right on cue, the elf nobleman rose to his feet.

"Enough!" 

Urjan snarled at him as he strode up to the table - not too fiercely, wouldn't want to scare him off altogether, but still easy to put real feeling behind the sound. Now was the part that reminded him why he actually hated this game, starting from having to take his hand off Ayal's ass to paw at his side for a weapon that, naturally, wasn't there.

"What do you want?"

"I am a stranger here and did not mean to intervene in this city's business." The wealthy elf's voice was strained. His words were to Urjan, but the bulk of his attention was on Ayal, who, soft lips parted and eyes swimming, looked on him as a messenger of the gods. "But I will not stand by while you - you - _despoil_ this poor boy. Unhand him at once."

 _Despoil._ It was a nice word he hadn't considered before, Urjan thought. He'd have to remember to tell Ayal to add it to the script. "Who's gonna make me, eh? You?"

"Me," the elf said, and flicked open a palm, revealing a blaze of magic-blue flame.

 _Oh._ Of course the mark was perfect. Urjan made another note to apologize to Ayal for doubting him. This was so much better than having to back down or even endure some blows from armed gallants and knights. Not that he _liked_ cringing in fear from that flame, but it wasn't nearly as bruising to his ego never mind the rest of him. He pushed Ayal off his lap, sending him toppling to the floor heavily to the floor - just as well, the impact to his knees might do away with his raging erection, and gods but he looked fetching in that heap with his hair a silver curtain over his face. Third mental note, about that...

"Alright - alright!" He put his hands up at the mage pushed his fiery hand at his face, close enough to heat his nose-ring. "You take him! Just having some fun, you elves can't handle..."

"Be gone from here, monster."

"Fuck, fine, I'm be-going!" Monster. _This fucking game._ It still stung. It was probably always going to sting, he thought as he made his hurried way to the door, feeling the hostess's baleful glare at his back for good measure.

But he could also hear Ayal, behind him, play through the next part. Profusely thanking his saviour, and apologizing, he could not recompense, he was noble-born but far from home, robbed of all he had and unsure of how he would travel back safely - oh but surely good sir you do not mean it - had already helped so much - cannot take this amount of money - an astounding charity - if sir insists - _how_ much money?

Ayal nearly lost the script when he heard the sum, and Urjan couldn't even blame him. Two steps out of the door of the teahouse he'd been freshly forced out of, in the shadows, he rubbed his hands together and whistled between his fangs. Tonight he'd sleep under feather down, clean and perfumed, with a belly full of meat, on the money of the very ones who hated him. Ayal was right. It was satisfaction.

He readjusted his pants before starting down the road, thinking back to that fall of silver hair, the slim body thrown down, the stunning heat grinding against his massive palm. It was nice in public sometimes, sure, but that was work; but tonight, among all those well-earned luxuries, it would all be for the two of them.


End file.
